Sandy Sunsets
by NCR Ranger
Summary: He'd lost something of himself in Korea. Could that void in Mitchell ever be filled ?


A/N: **I've heard the next COD will be " dark and gritty "-again. Well, here it is:**

* * *

Oman

Tiwi

6:00pm, local clock

* * *

Sand. It was certainly living up to its reputation.

Said reputation was, of course, that it was_ gritty_, aside from also how coarse it was and that it got everywhere.

There was always some strange, childish part of Mitchell's mind that seemed to activate whenever he had sand in his hands. For some reason, he couldn't help but idly contemplate how many billions upon _billions_ of particles of sand there were that made up this beach. Said beach stretched off for _miles_ in each direction to boot, and it extended for more than a dozen yards away from the edge of the Persian Gulf.

How _many_ grains of sand could be contained in _all_ that ? Too many to even attempt to contemplate- except Mitchell couldn't help it. It was harmless fun, thinking about all the uncountable billions of grains of sand.

Scooping a handful of it up, Mitchell could detect each and every grain as it ran past his fingers, trickling and falling back to join the rest of the them below. Each of them scratched and brushed against his skin, but only lightly. It wasn't much more than a tickle, really. Running your fingers though _dust_ was nasty; running them through_ sand_, though, wasn't.

Beach sand, like all sand, was still dry to the touch. It had the same texture as other sands, and turned to mud when it got soaked like other sands. It was gritty, like all other sands. Every time he touched it, Mitchel was reminded of where the invention of sandpaper came from: these grains could _definitely_ be an effective scouring tool.

But, there was _one_ thing in particular about this sand that set it apart from others:

It was _dark._

_Gritty,_too.

It was _black_ sand, though. Like looking at an asphalt road that was _right_ on the edge of the ocean, absolutely adjacent, but you could also tell it was sand, not a road. _Black_ sand, though, dark and opaque.

Gritty as sand should be. Even if it was also getting drenched by the ocean every second of every day.

Its juxtaposition against the cobalt blue of the Gulf was easily worthy of getting put onto a postcard. On the left hand side, the waves of that ocean rolled onto the dark sand again and again, with a steady _wrshhh, wrrshhh, wrrshhhh _that filled Mitchell's ears and reminded him as much as anything else, that he was on a _beach_.

He sank his hands into the sand. Immediately, the lower temperatures of being underground wrapped around them- a cool, temperate setting that was a noticeable change from the gentle heat of the surface sand, warmed by the sun beating on it for hours and hours over the course of an Arabian day.

A day that had Mitchell grateful that he'd brought shades along, and that he had a while to enjoy this place.

The Marine's knees were bare too, leaving them ( along with the rest of his legs ) still exposed to the hotter sand on top. But his_ hands_ were cooler, sunk underground, and it was a strangely comforting sensation to have _them_ buried, but not the rest of him.

Another thing about sand: It was as chilly at night as it was hot during the day.

_This is kinda childish, though.  
_

Frankly, though, Mitchell couldn't help himself. At least, _here and now. _There was, after all, nothing wrong with indulging your inner child once in a while, when the moment was right- like being out on an empty stretch of the sun nearing the end of its decent toward the horizon, the steady rays of heat getting applied to the sand would soon be gone, and he wanted to savor the warmth of the sands, before they began to chill.

He hadn't gotten a chance to visit a beach that much after signing up with the USMC, but_ that'd_ changed after he'd changed teams to ATLAS. The new career he'd been pursuing with the mega PMC had sent and taken him all over the world, both on assignment and on the vacations days he racked up while doing so.

God knows he'd earned them. He'd nearly _drowned_ on his first Op, saving that technologist in Lagos when the truck he was held captive in crashed off a bridge. Diving headlong into the bay in order to fish the egghead out had damn near proven fatal to Mitchell, but in the end, it'd all worked out: The technologist survived, the Nigerian PMC was singing ATLAS' praises, and the PMC scored a major win in getting clout across the region.

And it'd handsomely rewarded the team that'd made it all happen, of course. That was the first of many ops for the Marine-turned-Corporate soldier, and he quickly realized how much they could pay off for him- in more ways than one.

_The Corps sure as heck didn't pay me _this_ well, to begin with._

Now, here he was, spending some of those generous ATLAS vacation days on an Omani beach cordoned off for ATLAS personel, watching the sun set over the Persian Gulf. A region of the world that had so much to offer, but was also so often ignored.

_And it shouldn't be. Maybe I'll go to Pakistan next.  
_

_Why Pakistan ? Good question. If I go there, maybe I'll find out._

All that could wait, though. At the moment, he gathered a double handful of sand, and held the pile in his palms. Rubbing his fingers back and forth, he ran the earth between them, pressing and compacting the sand before it crumbled and fell through.

He did it again. Another double handful of the coastal sand rested against his palms.

"You're like a 5 year old, in a sandbox. "

Mitchell could've glanced up to rebuke the speaker, but he didn't.

" I bet your fellow Marines would be proud. "

He knew Ilona was right, anyway. This _was_ the kind of thing you'd normally see a boy doing, in the sandy confines of a city playground's sandpit. Fooling around with sand, in other words. Not actually _doing_ anything in particular.

" Yeah. Pretty much. " The jarhead shrugged, still looking at his buried hands, as a slight smile tugged one corner of his mouth.

" Doesn't really, _fit_ , with the image of a _world class _ATLAS soldier, does it ? Going full elementary schoolkid, on a _beach_."

" _Net (No )_. "

He looked up now, to find the Russian woman standing over him.

It was a striking sight. To begin with, Ilona was intimidatingly tall; only an inch or so shorter than the 6ft 1 Mitchell. To add to that, she was _also_ a former Spetznatz ( The catchall term for Russian SpecOps, or to be more specific, the VDV Airborne Corps ), which was well represented by her her formidably buff physique . Her current beach attire of a sports bra and shorts exposed her two muscular legs ( with thighs that nearly touched ) , a stocky torso with pronounced abs, and arms with noticeably rounded biceps ( one of which had the Winged Grenade insignia of the VDV ) , along with fittingly rounded shoulders.

Basically, she looked like she could bench press a truck.

Well, that's what Joker had said, anyway. Michell didn't ( and couldn't ) disagree, though. Ilona was definitely fit as heck, and it didn't hurt that all those muscles ff hers didn't bugle out in some masculine way that might've detracted from the alluring curves she was blessed with as well. The thought had crossed Mitchell's mind at least once or twice that having children would be easy for her: She'd endure both the labor and childbirth in stoic silence, and then hold the babe beneath one arm while still having the stamina to arm wrestle.

_Step by step, though ,_ Mitchell reminded himself as those thoughts came up.

_Step by step._

Staring down at him now, her eyes hidden behind a pair of wraparound shades, Ilona crossed both impressive arms. " I wake up from dozing off, and you've disappeared. I go looking for you, and here you are, playing like a schoolboy. "

Her admonishment ( for that's what it was; Mitchell could tell it was ) elicited a shrug from the Marine.

" Well, I was having fun ! "

"_ Da_ ( Yes ), I can see that. ". Looking down at her own toes, sunk into the sand like everything else, Ilona flexed them, flicking a few grains of sand Mitchell's way.

" You have strange ideas of_ fun_. ", she commented. " You always do this with _sand_. Even on the assault courses back at base, you always stick your hands into the sand we run on. That's very strange. No offense, by the way. "

" Takes more than _that_ to offend me. "

" Well, I had to check. Americans are weird that way. "

It was a fairly spot on assessment, and Mitchell smirked a bit. It was something he really liked about Ilona; she saw the traits that made Americans _Americans_, and turned them into something that helped draw them both together. Maybe it was Russian humor, or maybe it was mostly her, or maybe it was both, but either way, he liked it.

Mitchell attempted to drive his hands deeper even underground, but they soon encountered resistance strong enough to stop them dead. Nonetheless, Mitchell made an effort to go even further.

" Thought you liked me well enough by now to know that. "

" Jack. ". The big woman's accent stretched out the " A " in Jack by about a millisecond. " You think I'd have gotten all dressed up_ like_ this otherwise ?

Looking up again, Mitchell found Ilona was also kneeling in the sand by now, her long and powerful legs bent double. A few strands of her dark hair had come loose from the bun she'd tied it into ( a style that must not ever be used for a man ), and were getting randomly whipped about whenever the ocean breeze kicked up.

She still had her shades on, which was disappointing. Mitchell liked looking her in the eyes.

To answer her question, though, he shrugged. " I can't always tell with you. "

" Why- "

" _Vhy._ ". Mitchell couldn't resist it, chuckling. Teasing that Slavic lilt was _great_ fun.

" _Debil ( Moron ) _". Ilona shoved him one handed.

A shove from Ilona wasn't to be taken lightly; Mitchell remembered seeing her shove Joker ( who incurred her anger more than anyone else, unsurprisingly ) right off his chair and onto the floor, after making an especially crude remark directed at her. Again, she'd done it one handed, but considering the ample amount of muscle on each of her arms, that wasn't much of a surprise.

There was some _power_ there.

" Shit-! ". The Marine was rocked back, and reflexively pulled a hand free to steady himself.

_Ok, ok. Should've expected that._

_" _Woah. _Someone's_ cranky. "

" Oh, am I ? Maybe someone's pushed my buttons, you silly man. "

Despite everything, she wasn't _actually_ angry. Mitchell had seen what an _angry_ Ilona could do, and he was keenly familiar with how she was while in that mood. Right now, her buttons _had_ been slightly pushed- but only a bit.

" And you call _me _sensitive. ". Mitchell's own shades had nearly come loose from his face a moment ago, and his right hand came up to steady them.

" What ? You think I have no soft side, because I am willing to smack you around ? "

_Villing- ok. Allright, I won't take the bait._

" Come on. What happened a second ago doesn't _really_ count..."

The corner of Ilona's mouth twitched in an amused response. She might've been recalling that " Knocking Joker to the floor " incident as well, Mitchell guessed.

" That is true. ", she ultimately conceded with a shrug.

" Mostly because he's a _lot_ more irritating than you are. "

" See ? You're with a gentleman here. So, why don't you join me in soaking up the scenery for a few more minutes ? You can even doze off again if you want."

Ilona canted her head to one side, obviously making a show of thinking. Then, settling her mass fully into the sand, she positioned herself to be seated beside the Marine, leaned back with legs out in front, and stretched out her arms behind to prop herself up.

"Ok. I could do that, I think. "

_Behold my powers of persuasion. _

Mitchell mirrored her pose, and they soon settled into an enjoyable state of observing the sunset for roughly the next several minutes.

The sun didn't have much further to go, but as it had for millions of years after the dawn of creation, the glowing sphere was leaving a magnificent lightshow around it, with burnt orange and cherry red rays bouncing and deflecting off the clouds. Above the layer of the glow, the velvet black of the encroaching night sky was descending like a curtain, eager to swallow up the whole sky.

Overall, it was a satisfying spectacle to round out a day of R and R. And Mitchell had some very pleasant company to enjoy it with, to boot.

He could safely say he was content. Things could be all roaring gunfire and noise within the next couple of days if a contract was clinched for ATLAS, after all.

" Tell me something, Jack: What _were_ you doing in the sand earlier ? "

_Oh. There_ that _is, again._

_I thought she was going to let that slide...seems not._

Mitchell's jaw moved to one side, and his mouth opened slightly, but he didn't reply. He was actually finding himself, for once, having difficulty finding the right words- and not for only _one_ reason, either.

Evidently, he took longer than he wanted, because the Russian spoke up again, clicking her tongue. " Its bad manners to dodge a lady's question, Jack. "

She said it in a singsong, half-lecturing tone, that was clearly aimed at getting a response. And, it was actually working, except-

_Son of a bitch. I didn't want to think about that. She knows about the hand. _Everyone_ knows about it._

_Why haven't I told her about how its the thing here, though ? Its not like we're strangers. Not even close._

Automatically, the left of his hands began to curl into a fist. Mitchell sensed a wave of chill trickle over him, but knew it had nothing to do with the ocean's air.

"Relax. I wasn't planning on that. ", the Marine finally assured.

He turned his head to look at her, and was grateful to find Ilona had at last taken off her shades, looking at him right back. The cheerful mood Mitchell had been enjoying had slipped a sliver, but those eyes helped to fight it.

Even after so long around her, Mitchell had to admit he was no expert in reading emotions in eyes, even hers. He hated that; he wished he could. At least he could _see_ hers, though. There was something strikingly pretty about them- but for anybody with enough misfortune to be on the wrong end of _her_ scope, those pretty eyes would see _you_, but not the other way around.

_God know she's good at it. Thankfully._

The brows above those eyes arched now, in another obvious gesture of wanting an answer. Mitchell didn't _want_ to deny her one-

_Yeah. The box with the toughest lock's got it. And I have the key. _

_And I haven't turned it for anyone._

Again, his jaw moved, mouth opened a tad.

" Its-its about what happened in Korea. ", he confessed softly. " Its, all about what I lost there. "

Instantly, pain rippled through his left hand. Which wasn't at all possible, though, because-

\- well, his left hand was _still_ in Korea. Along with most of that arm, too.

" Oh, Jack. You should've simply _told_ me ".

Ilona's face, with its beautifully angular lines that would've been perfect on a ballerina ( though she had the body of an MMA fighter), took on an expression of touched surprise. " You didn't think I'd judge you for _that_, did you ? "

" I didn't- "

Honestly, Mitchell _didn't_ know.

" I wasn't- Its _dumb,_ to do that kind of thing. "

He exhaled, looking downwards, away from her, creasing his mouth into a line.

" You can't get a _real_ sense of touch with _this_ thing. ". Mitchell held up the left hand he'd received to replace the one he'd left behind.

" Sure, it can grab and hold onto stuff. It flexes and moves around a lot more fluidly than _any_ other mechanical limb on the market anywhere. _Top tier_ ATLAS tech. "

_One that set Mr Irons back a pretty penny. Not that he ever seemed to care. Got more dough that he'll ever know what to do with._

_" Da. ". _Ilona agreed, nodding.

" But, doesn't it pale compared to God's work ? "

There were no atheists in foxholes, and between him and Ilona, that was true even out of said holes. They both weren't devoid of thinking there must be a higher power- Mitchell sure as heck had been thinking of that when he'd been lying on his back in Seoul, watching his own severed limb oozing blood as Sgt. Cormack dragged his semi-conscious self away.

More pain shot through its replacement. Mitchell ( barely ) fought off off the convulsion that also usually accompanied the memory, and continued:

" Yes. _Yes_, it sure does. "

He finally looked at it again.

The robotic limb was a masterpiece of engineering. It allowed him to tie bootlaces, use chopsticks, undo or do up buttons- everything like that. It could pull a trigger, yank the pin on a grenade, grasp a knife hilt- anything like all _that_, too.

It could do everything its flesh and blood predecessor could do. Except one.

_This hand ? It can't give me the sense I can get the touch of things anymore._

It was incredibly complicated, and hard to explain. Impossible, even. After all, he _could_ sense things through the fingertips of the hand; hyper advanced as it was, it could detect temperatures, and successfully transfer the ASMR response of running your hand over pumice that you'd normally get. It was, essentially, as close to cloning a new limb as modern medicine had possibly ever advanced.

So, why did it still seem to Mitchell like it was nothing but a cast iron claw so often ?

He still didn't know.

" It doesn't even bother me most days. ", he told the Russian. " Especially not when we're on the job. But, when I get my hands on or near something that's all about touch and doesn't have anything to do with work- "

" Like, beach sand ? "

" Like _any_ sand. ", Mitchell clarified.

" Then, for some dumbass reason, its like I don't_ have_ the hand anymore. Like its gone, all over again. And even, when I check- "

His tone dropped, and his mouth creased again.

Exhaling through the nose, he went on:

" Its not the same. Its straight up not the same, and I keep going after getting it back. I dig my damn fake fingers into things like sand, because I need to get that sense of actually touching something back. "

" That's why I- well, that is why I was doing what I was doing. Its weird, its dumb. You can say it. I already have. "

As much as he cared for Ilona- as much as he knew she cared as much about him- revealing this emotional lock box wasn't something Mitchell had planned on when he was having his coffee this morning. He didn't know how she'd respond.

His own reluctance had dogged him about this, and now that he'd finally shared, it was still there.

" Jack..."

A hand suddenly grabbed his left. It had a strong grip, but it didn't squeeze.

It simply _held. _Firmly, but not crushing.

" You sense this ? You can sense my skin on yours, can't you ? When you touch me, can you ? "

Turning his head, Mitchell looked her in the eyes again. God, they were pretty. And still a mystery to him. Unreadable, damn it.

Her voice, though, was _much_ easier. That was clearly filled with her putting her heart out to him.

Something she would not do for _anybody_ else on God' earth, Mitchell knew for certain.

He had to be honest with her.

" Not-not with the left. I wish I could. You _know_ I wish I could".

The Russian' hand did tighten now, but only a iota.

" Now I understand, why you rely on your right so much ", she murmured. " Especially with me. "

" You're an amazing woman, Ilona, and you deserve a man who- well, who doesn't have any damn_ robot_ in him. "

"I don't know why you're putting up with me. "

The Spetznatz veteran stared at him for a second. Then, she thew a lightning jab into his shoulder.

" _Debil_. "

As a US Marine, Mitchell wasn't made of glass. He moved with the blow, which ( astonishingly ) didn't hurt as much he knew it could've. Ilona was undeniably strong; a punch from her could easily bruise purple.

No, _that_ was a " Making a point " kind of a hit.

Which she did a moment later.

" You think you're _not_ ?! ". She sounded- and looked-genuinely incredulous.

Nearly _angry_, which was usually enough to make most folks _quite_ nervous indeed, and rightly so.

Mitchell wasn't, but he did wish he hadn't upset her anyway.

" Ilona- "

She did grab the left hand now, and held it up.

" _This. _When _this_ touches me, I can't tell it from the _right_ , as long as I don't look. "

" Why ? Because its _your_ hand, Jack. Real or not a _robot_ one or not, it _yours. _And you wouldn't lay a finger on me unless I was ok with it. "

" Damn right I wouldn't. "

That had nothing to do with Ilona's considerable strength, or her expert-level skills hand to hand combat; Mitchell wasn't the kind of scum who'd do _that_ kind of thing to women. Period.

_Any man who _does_ do that deserves the worst punishment._

Still holding onto the left, Ilona repositioned herself again, even closer to Mitchell. Her other hand came to rest on the Marine's right forearm and gripped it firmly.

" Jack ". She looked him in the eyes. " Why didn't this ever come up ? You didn't _tell_ me."

Another good question. A _very_ good one, for sure.

_Agh, heck. I can't lead her on. Well, I could, but I don't _want_ to._

_She deserves otherwise. All I've got isn't anything noble, but its the truth._

_" _It- I didn't want to talk about it. I _hated_ it, when I first got it. I _still_ do, in a way ". Mitchell clenched his metal fingers, sensing the presence of Ilona's hand still being there-

\- but the sensors couldn't transfer the warmth of her _skin_. Not really. Mitchell knew he wasn't touching icewater right now, but that's about it.

It wasn't the same. It wasn't. Mitchell'd been handling this all along without saying, but not anymore.

Now he'd finally told her. The box,was open.

_God, I wish I could close it. Too late now. Way too late._

_Maybe it will help me. Or her. One of us, please._

He took his gaze away from hers, looked at the sand again. Grains by the billions that he couldn't get the full measure of. No matter how much he sifted them.

Same went, for touching...her.

" _Ya Lyublyu Tebya_, Jack. ", Ilona murmured.

There was a warmth and affectionate note to her voice when she spoke. A certain, _vulnerability._

Not _ever_ before had Mitchell seen this side of her. _Vulnerable_,_ Ilona_ ? That was absurd. But here she was, right in front of him , with her guard completely down. Her emotions, completely open.

Now Mitchell understood why she guarded herself so tightly inside. The ice queen...thawed.

" _Ya Lyublyu Tebya_. ", she repeated.

" I- well, that's Russian. ", Mitchell observed.

_ You really _are _a debil._

_" _But, I don't know what- "

" I love you. "

_...It means...I _love_-_

" _That's_ what it means, Jack. "

" I love you. "

And to drive the point home even more, Ilona leaned forward, and planted a kiss on his mouth.

* * *

_Like the frosting on a Dunkin Donut_

The thought jumped into Mitchell's mind on its own- well, what of his mind that still functioned, of his awareness was gone; the searing, deep, and passion-laden kiss Ilona was curretnyl pressing into his mouth was taking up most of it.

_God above-_

Her lips were soft. Not squishy or plump- _soft. _Enticingly so.

And they were _clamped_ over his. There was nothing sloppy or messy about this kiss; it was_ focused. _Strong, and with _purpose._

Like she _meant_ it.

Ilona's breasts bumped gently into Mitchell's chest at the height of the kiss, as her hands gripped the back of his neck. A fireworks show went off in the Marine's head, as the Russian woman_ finally_ pulled back.

Lightly gasping, she stared him in the eyes. Mitchell was gasping a bit himself, needless to say.

Ilona didn't let go, though.

" _Now_, do you understand ? " The Slavic brunette was only an inch or so away now, _so_ close.

" You do, don't you ? That I don't want anybody else-I want _you._ "

" I_ love_ you, Jack. To _heck_ with that hunk of scrap you've got bolted to your arm- its everything_ else_ that is the Jack Mitchell who_ I_ said_ I_ _love_. "

Ilona smacked the robotic limb, like the dead thing it was.

All along, and meanwhile, the sun had been setting. The orb had sunk at last past the horizon, and left only a hue of that burned orange and cherry that was quickly getting overwhelmed by the curtain of indigo.

Soon, all the shadows that were covering everything would only get denser. _That_ wouldn't do at all; Mitchell wanted to see Ilona bathed in light.

After all, she had told him, she loved him. _Loved_ him, and that he mattered to her too and so much. He'd been convinced that his hand that wasn't truly a hand was getting in the way of things between him and her. Not simply touching her- marking him as someone she'd turn her back on.

_No. Now I know. Now I know _all _I need to._

_" Ilona ". _A wide grin spread across Mitchell's face, as he gently, but firmly, reached out to slip an arm around her, and pulled her closer.

" I-I"

_Oh, damn it. I've gotten tied._

He closed his mouth, then opened it again:

" Ilona, I-..."

_Not again..!_

" I "

The Russian raised a brow, clearly stifling laughter.

" Jack, I can see it all over your face. But don't let that stop you ! "

Good lord-_ laughter. From her._

Oh, if only Gideon and Joker were here now-

_What ? No, no no- that's the last thing I want !_

_What I do want- damn it. I know, but I keep stumbling !_

_Ok, ok- here._

Clearing his throat, he went for threes.

" Ilona. I am taking you home. If you don't like it, you'd better speak up _right now._"

It came as no surprise, when no objection came. Ilona simply fixed him with a clear, open gaze.

With her mouth tugged up in a smile. One that was worth every penny ATLAS had ever paid Mitchell, and _then_ some.

_No question on _that

" Oh,_ I_ don't mind. ", she told him. " But on one condition:"

" You have to carry me. ".

Ilona sounded quite smug on that- and she had good reason to be. At 5ft 11, and over 180 pounds ( most of it all that muscle ) , she was pretty big. Everyone on base knew her as " That buff Russian girl who will snap you like a twig if you get her mad. "

Without anymore ado, Mitchell proceeded to wrap both arms around Ilona anyway. As she gasped in surprise at the embrace, the Marine held her tighter-

-and then stood up, bodily_ lifting_ her with him ! Her toes came free from the sand, and dangled above it, as Jack stood up.

" Woah-! "

" Going, _up !_ ". Taking a moment to adjust the heavy load, Mithcell braced his legs, and lifted with them.

Ilorna draped over him, up he did go, until he was fully upright.

" _Moy Gospodin ( My lord ), _Jack_._ ", Ilona exclaimed, teetering on the jarhead's shoulder. Her arms hung down his back, and she clutched at it.

" You- you did it ! "

" Challenge, accepted. ", Mitchell grunted. He was distracted badly from the sensation of Ilona's abs pressing into his shoulder, as well as her rather, _hefty_ weight, but it wasn't at all a bad thing.

_This_ was something the base crowd would've paid half their salary to see. A lot of the guys turned and ran when they saw Ilona coming their way mad, or at least gave her a wide berth if she wasn't. Seeing her getting hauled around like a rolled up carpet would do _serious_ damage to her image.

Good thing, none of them ever _would_ see this.

" Ok ! You win, Jack. You win. "

" Yeah, that's 're going _this_ way. "

" Oh, hooray. Please, be gentle with me. "

Mitchell couldn't help but laugh. " When we get there, let's be _mutually_ gentle. Sound good ?."

" I like _that_ idea ! I will also be kissing you as I soon as I get down, by the way."

Valuable cargo secured, with one hand ( it didn't even matter anymore which one ) across her legs, ( and Ilona holding on for dear life ), Mitchell began to walk back to the bungalow they they'd been calling home.

It was a short walk, thankfully. And he had incentive to get there.

And to greet the dawn that, God willing, would be as calm and wonderful as the evening that'd come before it.


End file.
